It was at the end of April when Bakugou began getting sick of giving himself pep talks and decided to suck it up and just visit Kirishima's cross already. Roughly a month had gone by since he discussed the redhead with Dr. Shuuzenji and Kirishima had been brought up a few more times in their talks. Bakugou was no idiot; he knew that he had had a 'break-through' with his doctor and she was hellbent on exploring it. Each session since then had left Bakugou feeling raw and vulnerable, a bundle of exposed wounds that bled with every pick and prod, though he didn't miss the unfamiliar feeling of growing lighter.

Visiting Kirishima was, in fact, his doctor's idea in the first place. Bakugou was going to do it anyway, at least he thought he was going to do it anyway, but it was suggested that he pay his respects to get closure. She, of course, was referring to visiting Kirishima's grave - his official grave, at the cemetery - and not going to the cliffside to physically visit him. The cliffside was actually something she adamantly warned against. They had discussed triggers briefly and, even though Bakugou didn't quite understand the logic behind them, they figured that maybe the cliff where all of his suicidal thoughts seemed to lead to was probably not the best place for him to go alone. He had waved her off, saying he wasn't going to bother hauling his ass up there to visit the memorial of a guy he didn't even know. He'd go to the cemetery, he said, and get closure.

That had been a lie.

The walk to Kirishima's cross had never been a gruelling one. It was an easy path to take, mostly flat with only a few hills with inclines so gradual that it was far from strenuous. Bakugou walked, jogged, and ran the path with ease for months, but it suddenly became a treacherous trail. Nothing was holding him back - no wind shoving against him, no mud to slog through - and yet his feet felt like they were weighted down with concrete. Every aching step he took was met with an intrusive thought. Turn back around. Step. He doesn't want to see you. Step. He won't even be there.

The last thought was the one that tormented Bakugou's mind for days as he tried to muster the strength he needed. There was no guarantee that Kirishima would even be there and, quite frankly, Bakugou didn't have a backup plan. If he got to the marker and there was no one waiting for him, as there had been every time he showed up, Bakugou didn't know what he'd do. You'd move on, he'd remind himself. Would you? he'd taunt in return. It was a vicious cycle of trying to set his coping mechanisms in place only to be the one to run through them again like a rogue toddler. The back and forth with his own thoughts left him stalling and he said fuck it to the whole situation. If Kirishima wasn't waiting for him, Bakugou would decide how he would proceed at that moment. It wasn't one of his doctor's tips and he was sure she'd be scolding him for not creating a safety net, but if he didn't go in blindly, he wouldn't go at all.

As the location of the cross drew nearer, the warm glow of the candles standing out in the twilight haze, Bakugou suddenly found it comforting to walk with his head down. Tightly coiled knots began filling his stomach at the mere thought of seeing the cross without its familiar counterpart. He had to get pretty close to the marker for the air to start bending and shifting to reveal Kirishima, and Bakugou wasn't prepared yet for the possibility of that not happening. The gravel was easier to look at; the soft crunching of pebbles under his shoes gave his mind a much-needed distraction as he got closer and closer to the source of his dread. The distraction only lasted so long and the toes of his shoes brushed the green-tipped yellow grass at the edge of the path.

His steps grew slower, deliberately so, and his breathing grew quicker. Taking the first step off of the path felt like a mistake, and he hesitated; one foot on the gravel, the other on the grass. He could turn back. He could leave. He could try again tomorrow or the next day. Next week. He could try again, sure, but the avoidance had become suffocating. With both feet on the grass, Bakugou trudged forward.

He approached the cross with the same timidness he had when he walked off of the path and stopped a good distance away. He didn't stop because he didn't want to get too close, he stopped because he felt eyes on him. Bakugou felt his skin prickle in the way it always did when Kirishima was around, the air charged with too much energy, and it was both relieving and terrifying. His already quick breathing stuttered and his heart jumped high into his throat, the combination of the two making it difficult to take in a proper breath. He blinked once, allowing his eyes to inch across the ground. He blinked again, noting shoes in the grass pointed towards him, and the base of the cross just beyond the figure not kept as neatly as it had been before. He blinked once more, long and drawn out, to the point where he was just keeping his eyes closed, and tilted his head up.

When he opened them, red locked with red.

In the past when Bakugou came to visit, Kirishima had always been preoccupied. It was as though he had a predetermined action when he was pulled back into existence. Sometimes he was watching the seagulls over the ocean, sometimes he was lounging in front of his cross mindlessly picking at the flowers, and sometimes he was outstretched on his back, watching the stars. He always knew when Bakugou approached but had never been actually waiting for him.

Not like this time. This time Kirishima was standing between him and the cross, waiting, and he was livid. It was the type of anger that made a person's blood boil so hot that they felt nothing at all. His face was cold and blank, but the rage rolled off of him in waves that Bakugou couldn't ignore even if he wanted to.

"Hey." Bakugou immediately wanted to punch himself in the face for such a casual greeting and Kirishima looked as though he were feeling the same way, his eyebrows twitching downwards. Nervous, Bakugou picked at the skin around his nails and looked to his shoes, forcing himself to bring his eyes back to Kirishima's when he realized he looked away. "I'm sorry," Bakugou said instead, the words spilling out in a blur, "I am so sorry."

"How long has it been?" Kirishima's voice was monotone, devoid of the warmth Bakugou had grown used to hearing whenever they spoke. He wanted to leave again. His brain was screaming at him that coming to the cliff had been a huge, catastrophic mistake and he needed to leave before it hurt even worse.

But Bakugou was only there because of a huge, catastrophic mistake that he had made.

He inhaled, counted to ten in his head, and breathed out. "Five months…" Kirishima tried to keep his expression the same, but the resolve broke just a fraction. His jaw tensed and his lower lip trembled, the action stabbing a knife right into Bakugou's heart and he was the one holding the blade.

"For fuck's sake, Bakugou…" Though he had done a decent job of keeping the mask up, Kirishima's eyes exposed him. The hurt was unimaginable - the betrayal and anger and sorrow all swirling into a wet mess. He began to turn away and Bakugou began to panic just like how Kirishima did when he left months ago.

"Wait, listen, I— " Kirishima whipped himself back around and now - now - he was pissed. He was glaring at Bakugou with an anger that rivaled his own and the tears welling in his eyes did little to make his look less threatening.

"Why?" he hissed, "Do you honestly think I want to see you right now?" Bakugou felt his throat constrict and he stumbled over the counting he had been doing in his head to keep his breathing somewhat normal. 1, 2, 3… Maybe 6. Maybe 5? Funny, Kirishima had been the only person Bakugou actually wanted to see.

"No, but—"

"Then why should I listen to anything you have to say? What could you possibly have to say to me?" Kirishima's voice broke with emotion and, while the anger was still very much in his eyes, the sheer, unbridled hurt came rushing back. "What could you say to me right now that would make any of this alright?"

"Nothing," Bakugou admitted. God, he hated staring into those eyes now. "There's nothing I can say to you that would fix what I did, but can I just talk? Can you just hear what I have to say and we can go from there?" Kirishima started to say something else and, fearing he was going to be turned away, Bakugou took a risk and raised his hand to cut him off, upsetting the redhead even more in the process. "You don't have to say anything and if you want me to leave after, I will. If you want me to stay, I will. I'll come back in a week, in a month, in a year, never , if that's what you want. I will do whatever you need me to do, but please listen to me first."

This time he waited for a reply and Kirishima seemed to be waiting for something, too. Eventually his shoulders slumped in defeat and he pulled his fingers through his hair. "Fine."

Good. Good start? Bakugou nodded quickly, wracking his brain on what to say even though he had planned everything out for days. He had written the words out, said them into his mirror, whispered them before he went to bed; he knew what he wanted to say before, but in the moment his mind was blank. Bakugou rubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs and closed his eyes, silently praying that Kirishima wouldn't take offense that it was easier for him to think if he didn't have to look at the damage he caused. "I should've come back sooner. I shouldn't have stopped coming at all. And I know nothing I say can fix—" Shit, he said that already. This was bad. Everything was crumbling before his eyes and he desperately tried to pick up the pieces as fast as they fell. It felt damn near impossible and he couldn't keep up. "Ei—'' No, too personal now. He couldn't say his name anymore, not like that. Why was Kirishima so patient? So quiet? Was he even still there? Bakugou would've left ages ago. He chanced peeking open his eyes and met Kirishima's once more. He kept them there.

"Kirishima, I left you knowing that you sit in some purgatory, waiting. Just waiting. I wish I could take it back, but I can't. I want to help you." Something changed in Kirishima's expression at those words, but Bakugou didn't have time to sit and analyze it. "I wanted to help you back then, too, but when it fell on me to figure my shit out…" The sentence died off and Bakugou was struggling all over again. Back then he knew that there was something wrong with him, something that made his life seem like a daunting chore while everyone else continued on with ease. But that was how it always had been. That was his life and that was how his life was always going to be. He didn't want to fix it or look at it or pick it apart because it was easier to lie down and take it. It was easier to imagine jumping off that cliff until one day he would just do it.

"I didn't want to face it. I didn't want to accept that I had shit I needed to work through because it… hurt. A lot. But I'm trying. I'm trying to help myself so I can try to help you. I don't know what I can do, but I want to… try," he finished lamely, groaning into his hands as he pulled them down his face. "Only if you want me to. I fucked up and I recognize that, so if you want me to go, I understand. I just wanted you to know that I am sorry. I'm sorry."

Kirishima stared at him impassively when he peeled his hands away from his face, and the silence became so deafeningly painful that Bakugou wanted to scream just to break the tension. Then Kirishima turned away, wordlessly. He stepped back over to the cross and sat beside it, mirroring the position he was in when Bakugou saw him that second day. He knew it was a possibility, but having Kirishima turn away from him and shut him out created an unimaginable pain. His heart squeezed and for a moment all Bakugou could do was stand and stare at Kirishima's back. His nails dug painfully into the palms of his hands, the physical pain actually tangible compared to the emotional distress he was rightfully thrown into, and Bakugou wanted the hollowness he felt his whole life to return. He fought the urge to beg, wanting to respect Kirishima's wishes, but just because he was trying to leave with some dignity, didn't mean the cliff wasn't tempting. Kirishima had made his choice and Bakugou had to make his. With stiff legs, he turned around and headed back to the path.

"What have you been doing for five months?" Bakugou stopped. He turned back around and, with Kirishima still facing away, Bakugou wasn't sure if his mind made up the question because he just couldn't cope. Then Kirishima looked at him expectantly over his shoulder - annoyed, but genuinely curious - and gestured to the spot of grass next to him. He didn't need to be asked twice. Bakugou nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to sit down, clumsily depositing himself on the grass. He seized the opportunity he was so graciously given though at a loss and a little dazed. "I'd talk about myself," Kirishima added dryly, turning his attention to the ocean as he always did, "But, you know, other than small blips here and there, I've been floating in a void." Bakugou winced. He deserved that.

"I know…" It took a few moments of awkward silence and a look from Kirishima for Bakugou to remember that he had been asked a question that wasn't rhetorical. "I started therapy again." The red eyes on him widened slightly, surprised, and were schooled quickly back into a cool look. It would've been funny, how bad Kirishima was at taming his expressive face, had it not been for the situation at hand.

"Is it helping?"

"I want to say that I came back here because I stopped being a coward on my own, but I don't think I ever would've seen you again if it wasn't helping." The words stung to say, so Bakugou could only imagine how much they stung Kirishima, but he deserved to know the truth. He deserved to know that Bakugou would've left him forever. He tried to keep the selfish, self-loathing thoughts at bay, tried to practice the forgiveness he was told he should give himself, but he wasn't there yet. Maybe he'd get there one day, but not right now when he was at the epicenter of the mess Kirishima was left with.

"What do you talk about?" Bakugou blew out a long sigh, trying to rid his body of the anxious jitters still rumbling under his skin, and tipped his shoulders upwards.

"The kid I beat up, my anger, my parents…" It was a vague answer. "Everything, I guess." He watched Kirishima's fingers twist in the grass, selecting a blade and pulling up slowly to free it at the root, then repeating the process with another.

"The cliff?" The piece of grass he was pulling up broke, tugged too harshly.

"Yeah." Bakugou looked away from the hand and to the grass in front of him. "Yeah... I mentioned the cliff and it became… Well, it was a pretty much all she'd fuckin' focus on for a while." From the corner of his eye, Bakugou could see Kirishima nod. Before when they spoke, it was simple - a natural back and forth even when the other was dominating the conversation. Bakugou felt guilty only talking about himself, torn between wanting to answer the questions Kirishima was readily asking and just shutting up to turn the focus away from him. Kirishima most likely knew this, enjoying making him squirm, and maybe he really didn't have anything to say.

"We talk about you. Not you like now, but…" He couldn't shut up, he needed him to know. "We didn't talk about you at first. Like, at all. I refused. After I last saw you things were not… good. Everything just kind of cracked open, which I deserved, but yeah. We talk about you. How I don't like that you died, how I don't think it's fair… How it makes me pissed that I couldn't have done anything about it anyway."

"I'm sorry." A chill swept down Bakugou's spine and it wasn't from the crisp, evening air.

"Don't. Do not." The words came out rough, teetering on the edge of aggressive, and when the tone echoed back to Bakugou, he realized he was scowling at Kirishima. He tried to reign the emotions back. "Don't ever be sorry, Eijirou. You do not owe an apology to me."

Kirishima still wasn't looking at him, but he was listening. "She got me on some pills that make me feel like shit, but apparently that will stop once they even out in my system and we stop upping them. She also told me that I have depression. I told her that I didn't need a fucking PhD to figure that one out." A sound burst out suddenly, the startled laugh coming from Kirishima seemingly shocking them both. Bakugou grinned.

"Wow, Bakugou," Kirishima said between restrained chuckles, and it was probably the most beautiful sound Bakugou had ever heard. With the laughter subsiding, the mood felt substantially lighter; still broken and too fragile to touch, but rebuilding.

"It's forcing me to process things I don't want to process and holding me accountable for things I don't want to be accountable for. I guess that's part of the progress I'm making. I know meds and therapy aren't a cure-all, and I got told this weird analogy about how what I'm going through isn't linear and something about a mountain, but I'm trying and it's working."

"I'm happy for you." Bakugou studied Kirishima's face, eyes lingering on the ghost of a smile that still hadn't vanished completely.

"And… is this working?" The smile did disappear now and Kirishima reached up to rub at the back of his neck, an awkward gesture for an awkward situation. His eyebrows were drawn together in concentration, and Bakugou held his breath as he waited for the answer.

"I don't know yet…" It was honest. Bakugou didn't expect anything less and Bakugou didn't want anything less, but it didn't mean it was easy to hear. The truth was often a jagged pill to swallow and this one was no different. Bakugou nodded once, conveying to Kirishima that he accepted how he felt and looked away. "It's not going to be fixed in one day, anyway," Kirishima added, quieter. When Bakugou heard the words, he returned his gaze to Kirishima's face, mildly surprised to see the other finally looking back at him. They stared for about a second before Kirishima's nose scrunched up, forcing down a smile as he tossed a pitiful handful of grass in Bakugou's direction. "It's not not working."

. . .

Falling back into their old routine happened a lot quicker than Bakugou imagined it would. It was obvious that he had fucked up and their usual back and forth wasn't up to par, but talking to Kirishima, even with the tension in the air, still felt second-nature. The roles were reversed, however, with Bakugou being the one to chat aimlessly and Kirishima filling in spots of silence.

When he did speak, Bakugou was sure to listen and listen intently. True to Kirishima's 'feeling' from before, he hadn't seen his parents again. He was disappointed and, when he off-handedly brought up the topic, Bakugou could tell that he had mixed feelings. Part of him had made peace with the idea simply because he had no other choice and another part of him found the notion gut-wrenching, regardless of how much time had passed. While he hadn't seen his parents, Kirishima had seen his friends a handful of times since he and Bakugou had last seen each other, though the visits were dwindling more and more as time moved on. They were healing, he guessed, and mentioned that he mustn't be on their minds as much. Bakugou tried to protest but clamped his mouth shut. Kirishima assured him it was a good thing. It didn't mean they were forgetting him, it just meant that they weren't hurting as much anymore.

. . .

"Can I ask you something I have no right to ask?" Bakugou asked, long after the sun had disappeared and a sliver of the moon took its place. The conversation had been dead for a while and Bakugou was overcome with a gut-feeling. Maybe the same feelings Kirishima got, maybe not, but there was something inside of him saying that now was the time to ask.

Kirishima must've felt the same thing because, even though he looked anxious when Bakugou looked at him, he replied with a soft, "Sure."

"Did you ever talk to anyone? Like how I do now?" It wasn't the question Kirishima was expecting. It wasn't even the question Bakugou was expecting, but it was the question that needed to be asked. It danced around the obvious because the obvious didn't need to be said anymore.

Kirishima sucked in a breath and let it back out, steeling his own nerves and scrambling to gather the courage much like Bakugou had done earlier. Seconds ticked by and Bakugou was ready to back out of the question, cursing gut-feelings and the desire to follow them. "I don't think I was sad," Kirishima whispered, almost too quiet for Bakugou to hear, "I don't remember being sad. I remember being happy. I remember smiling a lot." As if the word had been a request, Kirishima's mouth tipped up into a small, lopsided smile. "I remember thinking that if I could just get through today, tomorrow could be better. And when tomorrow wasn't better, if I could just hang on until the next day. And the next. Then maybe one day, if I held on long enough, there would be a good day. One day I wouldn't be waiting for the next day." The inhale he took in was ragged, shuddering in his chest, and the smile slowly sunk from his face. He turned to Bakugou, looking lost and scared, seeking comfort perhaps without even knowing it. "I don't think I was sad, but maybe I was? Does that make sense? I just felt…"

"Empty," Bakugou finished for him. It made sense.

"Yeah," Kirishima agreed, sniffling, "And tired. God, Katsuki, I remember being so tired. It didn't matter how much sleep I got because that wasn't the problem. I felt it in my bones, it lived in my body and consumed me, and nothing I did fixed it. I was so tired waiting for the good days, but I didn't want people to worry and if I didn't talk about it, if I just kept smiling, if I was just happy, people didn't worry."

"Ei… I…"

"It's weird. I don't remember how I got here. I remember a lot of things - things come back to me in pieces when I'm reminded of something - but I don't remember how I got here. I don't remember what led up to being like this." Bakugou watched a tear carve a path down Kirishima's cheek. Another followed from the other eye, soon joined by more until a stifled sob bubbled up from Kirishima's chest. At a loss, Bakugou blindly reached forward to grab Kirishima's arm, his hand hesitating. "I don't remember falling…" Fuck it. He pulled the redhead close, probably too roughly, and let the other hide in the crook of his neck. "I'm glad I don't remember falling…" The words were muffled against Bakugou's hoodie, thick with tears, and Bakugou just hugged him tighter. He wanted to say something. He thought back to all of the times his parents had comforted him, to every kind word that was ever thrown in his direction, but nothing seemed to hold up to the insurmountable grief Kirishima finally had a chance to let out. Kirishima's hands gripped at the back of his shirt and twisted into the fabric as though Bakugou was the only thing keeping him anchored. At that moment, Bakugou realized that he didn't need to say anything at all.

. . .

When Kirishima pulled back a good time later, having cried into Bakugou's shoulder until he was out of breath, he looked pitiful and exhausted. There was also a certain degree of calm coming from him, having just let go of the burden following him around for longer than he probably even knew. The time for silence had left and Bakugou knew what he wanted to say. "I hung out with your friends." He pulled his sleeves over his hands and reached forward, gently pressing the fabric against Kirishima's cheeks. Puffy, quizzical eyes met his own and he made a face of mock annoyance. "They're idiots, but they're alright I guess." Kirishima stared vacantly for longer than he'd care to admit, waiting for the gears in his head to process what Bakugou was saying. When the cogs turned, he huffed out a laugh that got stuck on a delayed sob, gently swatting Bakugou's hands away.

"That sounds about right. I knew you'd like 'em." Bakugou rolled his eyes and Kirishima shoved at him playfully.

"You didn't know shit." He twisted in his spot to avoid another one of Kirishima's attacks, and gradually they settled side by side, arms pressed against each other and their hands clumsily interlocking in a way that neither addressed.

"I'm glad you came back," Kirishima hummed and bumped their shoulders together catching the other's attention. Bakugou saw the poster-smile that used to haunt him for the first time in months and he could scarcely recall why he had ever wanted to avoid it in the first place.

"Fuck, me too."